


The exploration of art

by evakuality



Series: Exploration [2]
Category: Druck | SKAM (Germany)
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fic, Sequel, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28816413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evakuality/pseuds/evakuality
Summary: “Why are we even here?” Matteo asks, blowing on his fingers which have turned a rosy pink colour due to the chill.  It’s mid morning, but it feels more like late evening, with the gloom cast over the area by the looming clouds.  It’s grey, wet, almost apocalyptic.  This is not his idea of a good time or a good date.David walks backwards into the space, and laughs.  He doesn’t look cold, with his eyes lit up and hands shoved deep into his pockets.  A warm beanie perches on his head, a perfect blue to show off his glowing skin, and making Matteo’s breach catch when he looks at him that way.“It’s an anniversary,” David says, stopping and holding his hand out towards Matteo.
Relationships: Matteo Florenzi/David Schreibner
Series: Exploration [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112759
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	The exploration of art

“Why are we even here?” Matteo asks, blowing on his fingers which have turned a rosy pink colour due to the chill. It’s mid morning, but it feels more like late evening, with the gloom cast over the area by the looming clouds. It’s grey, wet, almost apocalyptic. This is not his idea of a good time or a good date.

David walks backwards into the space, and laughs. He doesn’t look cold, with his eyes lit up and hands shoved deep into his pockets. A warm beanie perches on his head, a perfect blue to show off his glowing skin, and making Matteo’s breach catch when he looks at him that way.

“It’s an anniversary,” David says, stopping and holding his hand out towards Matteo.

Huffing, watching the way his breath puffs out into the icy air, Matteo rolls his eyes. “It’s really not.”

“No, it is,” David says, relenting, and moving back to take Matteo’s hands. “Six months ago we met up here.”

Matteo looks up, taking in the space again. The same caved-in roof, the same barrels lining the edges, the same sense of space and peace, even in the very different weather. He remembers, of course he does. He’d come here in the hopes that he might meet up with David again, that he might rekindle the moments he’d shared with the unknown boy in the abandoned kitchen. He’d come here and become fascinated by the lives represented by the art on all the barrels.

That day had been warm, bright, shining in the beams of sunlight that had pierced the space. It was filled with the joy of the discovery, as he’d wandered around, pressing lines onto the huge canvases with his fingers, tiny pinpricks of brightness in the dusty sludge. Today, none of that is visible.

For once in Berlin, the snow has stuck. It’s only an inch or so, but it’s enough to cloud the room from prying eyes, no hint of the art really visible, except for small patches where the sides of the barrels are too rounded for the snow to stick. It’s altogether uninspiring, a major contrast to the space that had called Matteo so profoundly that first day that he’d come back a second.

“But this isn’t a place that was a real first,” Matteo says, looking back over at David.

“Isn’t it?” David counters, his face alight as he holds his arms wide. “This is where I knew. I wanted to run and run and run before I met you. And even then I played a game with myself. If you didn’t find this place, I didn’t have to try to stop running.” He looks up and around at everything. “But deep down, I wanted you to find it,” he says quietly, looking at Matteo again. “I wanted you to find  _ me.” _

“You are insufferably romantic, you know that?” Matteo complains. “It’s cold and my feet are numb, and I wanted to complain about that. And then you…” he waves his hand around at the space, “and then you just say some shit like that and now I can’t complain.”

Laughing, David catches him around the waist. “You love it really.” He kisses Matteo's neck, making him shiver and sending a welcome burst of heat spiralling out from the point where his lips touch. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

He leads Matteo in the direction of one very specific barrel. Matteo remembers this, too. Remembers the art David had placed so painstakingly onto the end, angry and aggressive figures fighting against the graffiti underneath them, dark lines almost obliterating the messages David was making. Matteo remembers how it had made him feel.  _ There’s a sense of an ongoing struggle, none of the pieces looks like it can rest as they all battle against the darkness underneath them, and each floats as thoroughly disconnected from each other as Matteo feels from the world. _

He’d felt a connection, then, to David and to the thought that they shared this alienation. But he also remembers how painful it had felt to stand here on a cold, wet day weeks later and wonder what had happened to David. There’s a lot of history here, of their history, and Matteo almost understands why David thinks of this as a space that holds anniversaries.

They round the end, and Matteo can feel David’s hand trembling in his own. It means a lot that he’s always been able to trust Matteo with this. From the first time he’d shown the art, it’s been clear that David doesn’t let just anyone in. Even then, Matteo had recognised the trust David was bestowing on him.

“I… uh. I changed it. A bit,” David says nervously, as he brushes the few snowflakes that have settled on the parts he’d been working with.

Indeed, he has, The figures, once so distanced and alienated from each other, have been joined now by others, and a green trail of leafy vines has been painstakingly drawn to enhance the connections. The bird no longer looks aggressive, the faces have been modified to show a happier mood, overlaid on top of the pain. Small pricks of colour have been added to the old, to breathe life and happiness into them. And between them are a few new ones, that Matteo recognises as himself. These figures all reach out, hands brushing against the ones that are clearly David. Joined in a neverending dance through fingertips and the curling vines.

“It’s beautiful,” Matteo breathes, in awe. “I don’t deserve this, though. I’m just… me.”

“No. You do,” David says. “I tried to run from you, you know that. But you didn’t let me get far. You kept looking and fighting and you never gave up.” He sucks in a breath, looks at Matteo. “That’s why I think of this as our anniversary place. It’s not where we met, it’s not where we kissed. But it’s where I knew that you  _ would _ fight.”

“Shit,” Matteo says, and he can hear the wobble in his own voice, knows he’s getting stupidly emotional.

David wraps his arms around Matteo from behind, resting his chin on Matteo’s shoulder and lending him strength as if he understands how Matteo is feeling. They stand there for a few more minutes, taking in the scene. Snow falls around them, not enough to really settle, a few flakes, enhancing the silent contemplation of the place. Matteo knows it will be gone within a few hours at most. But there’s something about the silent, white world and the burst of colour in David’s vine that speaks to Matteo.

He’s not an artist, and he’d been frustrated when he first saw this place that he couldn’t read and understand the messages of all the artists the way David did. But he’s always understood David, and he always knew what  _ this _ work was about. So he knows what it means that David has changed it, that he’s created space in his life and in his art for Matteo.

“I never really understood art,” Matteo admits finally. “But I always felt like this made sense of who you are.” He squeezes David's hand where it sits at his waist. “I’m glad you don’t feel those things anymore.”

“I am too,” David says quietly.

“I felt like your art understood me in a way,” Matteo says eventually. “Like you got what it meant to be alone and apart from everyone and everything.”

David nods, Matteo can feel it against his cheek and he smiles, lets himself sink into the warmth. 

“I’m glad we both know this now,” he reaches out and tenderly brushes his fingers over the spots of colour which have appeared on the old figures, on the way the vine twines in and out, connecting their lives but giving them each space. “It’s perfect,” he whispers. “It works great as an anniversary.”

A fat drop of rain interrupts them, mingling with the snow. Another appears, then another, icy shards stinging as they drip down through the caved-in roof. The snowy metaphor disappears, making Matteo laugh. He’s not sure he can find meaning in the rain, but it doesn’t matter. He takes David’s hand, and pulls him back towards the door.

“Let’s go home,” he says. 

They turn to leave, and as they go Matteo can see the paper holding David’s art dampening again. But this time, the rain doesn’t hide them, making them almost invisible to the eye. This time, it highlights the newer, brighter elements. This time, it shows the promise held even in the coldest and darkest of spaces.

As if he can read Matteo’s mind, David smiles, squeezing his freezing fingertips. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

Together they walk out into the future.


End file.
